


From Our Yesterdays

by politelydeclined



Category: Howl's Moving Castle - All Media Types, The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Howl's Moving Castle Fusion, Angst, Eye Trauma - Sort Of, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:49:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28154880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/politelydeclined/pseuds/politelydeclined
Summary: Jon has never been anything but ordinary. He works in a bookshop with his only friend, and he's been described as unsocial and rude on more than one occasion.This is bound to end when he meets the infamous Gerard Keay, a wizard that is told to steal his victims' hearts and bind their souls to a book. And of course, men like him attract trouble: the Watcher has been looking for Gerry and Jon seems to have caught his eye.After being cursed by him, Jon can only look for Gerard, hoping to find a way to get his life back, or maybe build another on the way.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 14
Kudos: 38





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter CWs: General unpleasantness from some guards, slight canon typical horror elements.  
> The title is taken from [this](https://atashi.wordpress.com/2010/05/06/howls-moving-castle-theme-song-sekai-no-yakusoku/) translation of The Merry-Go-Round of Life.

_The smile that trembles deep behind your tears_  
_Is the promise of the world since the beginning of time_

The tired whistle of the train – wheezing and laboured as it tended to be at the end of the day – had Jon startling in his seat, bumping a book with his elbow. It hit the floor with a dull _thud_ , a puff of dust rising up at the impact.

He looked at it with contempt before picking it up with a groan.

_Ex Altiora_ , it read.

It was a battered old thing, pages yellowed with time and with recurring undefined stains. He had read it – he’d probably read most of the books he stored, thirsty for that thrill of  _newness_ as he was. This one wasn’t quite what he’d generally like for himself – a fantastic tale of a town preparing for conflict as an unknown, enormous creature approache d . 

It was a tragedy, he recalled, as in the end the villagers were drawn mad by fear, to the point wher e they threw themselves to the rocks underneath their citadel.

Interesting read, of course, but nothing particularly catching about it. The most uncanny thing was probably the weird sense of vertigo that came when he stared at it too intently, something that he could easily avoid.

All in all, he wouldn’t have minded getting rid of it, just as he wouldn’t have minded keeping it in a shelf, to gather dust until the end times. It was  _a_ book, simple as that.

Some other tomes, he would have preferred to cut off his own hand rather than parting from.

Others still, he would be amenable to throw at people’s heads just to get them out of his library.

“Knock knock!” A cheerful voice called out, distracting him from his musings.

Sasha was leaning against the door-frame, smiling from behind a cup of tea. He noticed she was out of her usual work clothes, and with a quick glance to the clock on the wall realised it was much later than he’d thought.

“Really, Jon, you’d spend the whole night in here if I didn’t check up on you every now and then.” She rolled her eyes with far too much fondness for her words to hit, and he smiled back with a weary quirk of his lips.

“You know me, Sasha.”

“Yeah, well. Have you eaten at all today?”

He lowered his eyes and shrugged. He  _had_ eaten breakfast and he was sure he had gone out for lunch- though maybe that had been the day before?

Sasha didn’t seem surprised. “Come on then, we’re getting something to eat before the  parade starts – neither of us want to get stuck in all that traffic.”

He quickly gathered his things, glimpsing at his desk before turning the light off. It was- messy, to say the least. Book and pens and papers laid there in disarray as he postponed tidying it up, his notes all over the place. He was almost positive he’d left a pair of keys in there.

“Tomorrow,” he whispered to himself.

Closing up the bookshop, he turned to Sasha and listened as she told him all about her plans for the weekend, about visiting her parents and possibly seeing her latest  _beau_ – a young man who worked for a radio station and wore his shirt almost completely unbuttoned. 

“I mean, he’s quite nice – it won’t last, with the whole disgraced pirate aesthetic he’s got going on – but that will get my mother off my back for a while at least. Maybe being ‘heartbroken’ will stop her from trying to find me a husband.”

He hummed in response, smoothing out the fabric of his  tweed jacket. Old and soft, it was ideal for those early spring days, when the mornings and evenings were just chilly enough to make him shiver in his usual attire but not enough to require a coat. 

It had been a gift from his grandmother, before he’d left for the city.

“\- and I wish I could just tell her that I don’t _care_ about marriage, I don’t care about falling in loooove-”

They made their way through the gathering crowd, streets filling as everyone waited for the parade to start.

“What are you in the mood for? I’m paying.”

“S-Sasha, that’s really not necessary-” A single look cut him off, and his shoulders sagged. “ _Fine_. How about Rosie’s?”

Rosie’s was a quaint tavern they both liked, near the shop but rather hidden from the main boulevards. The innkeeper was a kind old woman  who was convinced Jon needed to put on weight and who didn’t ask questions or give looks when he showed up in his dresses – which were all waiting for the weather to warm up to emerge from the back of his wardrobe.

It was nice, and the dishes were all rather good, so they had become usual clients. Sasha nodded, and took his arm, leading him away from the streets and towards the alleys. It was much faster this way, she would tell him every time, even though there were spiders and the occasional drunkard.

He liked Sasha. He liked her matter-of-fact approach and he liked that she didn’t mind his silence. She talked and let him nod or hum without expecting a reply every time.

She was very focused at work, and didn’t care much about social norms.

They were friends, although the fact had taken him by surprise when she’d told him. He recalled asking her something along the lines of “are you sure?”

She would still tease him about it.

“Anyways, I would gladly tell her that I would rather _not_ , but you know how she gets- what about _grandchildren_? As if I cared- I have a fish, have that as your grandchild.”

Finally they reached the old beech door where a rusty sign dangled from a nail, where _Rosie’s_ was barely legible. Sasha pushed it open and a warm rush of air hit them, taking away some of the chill that had set in their bones. They hanged their overcoats in the cloakroom and entered the tavern.

“Here they are, my little librarians!” Rosie’s voice boomed as she waved from behind the counter. She was a tall, comely woman with wide hips and a soft exterior, her tawny skin flushed as it usually did when she worked long hours in the kitchen. Her greying hair was pulled into a tight bun on top of her head, and even from a distance Jon could see the way her dark eyes twinkled in genuine delight at seeing them.

He found himself blushing against his better judgement, and Sasha waved back, pulling him to the worktop by his elbow.

“Good day to you, Rosie!” She bubbled, making herself comfortable on one of the tall stools. “Are you still open for long? We’d like to get something to eat but we wouldn’t want to make you late for the parade-”

“Oh don’t worry, you silly girl, the soldiers will manage to walk around looking like scarecrows even without my guidance- And you would do well with some warm food. What can I get you?”

“I shall have some of those awesome beer and butter vegetables you cooked the other day, and some bread to go with.” Sasha swayed on her seat.

“I- I think the stew will be fine. No pork, right?”

“Ah, you live in a nice world if you think there’s any pork left for small business like this. No, boy, the king decided that in order to win the war, he must feed on the finest meat every day. Useless ass.” Rosie whispered the last part, though she probably needn’t to. Most people shared her opinion, as one was bound to do when living outside of the castle’s golden bubble, but one could never know when the wrong monarchist was listening, or the occasional drunken guard would decide to start a fight.

“Yeah well- one would almost hope he’d actually dirty his hands for once instead of sending our sons and daughters to die for him.” Abelard grumbled from his place near the window. 

He was Rosie’s father – old as the kingdom itself, some would say – and even as he had grown more weary with age he had refused to leave his daughter to work alone. He would help, do some odd jobs every now and then, but he was a n integral part of the tavern.

Jon vaguely recalled a story about his two other children dying in the first war – a tale he didn’t want to hear again, as the sight of the proud man crying woke a part of him that only wanted to take the king and show him  _exactly_ what his petty wars entailed.

“I’m afraid we’re all out of stew,” Rosie redirected his attention gently, and his focus shifted on her. “But we do have some of the pot pie you like!”

He wetted his lips and nodded. “That seems wonderful, thank you Rosie.”

Soon enough him and Sasha were stuffing their faces full of warm, delicious food, barely taking breaks to breathe between one bite and the other. There was something about this place, Jon mused, something that always made everything taste incredibly good, even the simplest of dishes. If he had been a romantic, he would have pinned it on the loving atmosphere of the tavern – but alas, he was not.

Sasha looked at the hostess, and decided to entertain in her favourite activity: chattering.

“So, Rosie,” she said between a mouthful of bread and a sip of beer. “Any hot new goss you want to share?”

Rosie’s eyes lit up. “Oh well, now that you ask- my cousin who lives  up in North Town heard her seamstress talking about a woman she knows who apparently saw Keay’s devilish castle approaching the wasteland. So close to the city, can you believe it?”

“Keay?” Jon asked, raising an eyebrow. “Gerard Keay, the wizard?”

“The heart-eater, you mean!” Sasha snorted. “Don’t you know he has eaten the hearts of many a maiden, and bound their very souls to a book made out of human skin?”

“Don’t you joke about this, child!” Rosie fretted. “He has stolen so many young people to obtain mysterious powers- did you know that Natasha’s old friend had a sister whose fiancè was taken by that wizard.”

“Right,” Sasha mumbled. She had always been very sceptical of the tales surrounding Gerard Keay, but unlike Jon, she wasn’t fascinated by him either. In her opinion, he was probably an old loon that had somehow managed to become the talk of the town. No magic behind it, she believed, just a senile fool wandering The Waste.

“I’ve always thought it couldn’t hurt to talk to him,” Jon added, hiding into a forkful of pie as Rosie shot him a look. “I mean, I’ve heard so much about his library. They say he collects all types of cursed books, I wouldn’t mind giving him some of mine.”

As Sasha suffocated a snort, he grimaced. “Not like that you idiot.”

Rosie tutted disapprovingly. “Be careful, children. He is a dangerous mage, and you better hope you never cross paths with him.”

Once their plates were cleared and their drinks finished, they bid their goodbyes and retrieved their coats. The sun was still shining, but the temperature was definitely lower now.  Jon stuffed his hands into his pockets, burrowing his face into a scarf. 

They walked out of the back alley, and soon enough they found himself near the main street. People were now crowding every nook and corner in the hopes of greeting the soldiers on their way to war, and making it impossible for them to move through the swarm.

With herculean effort, they managed to stumble their way to the crossroad where they would have to separate and go their own way. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” Sasha asked, rubbing her hands together.

“Of course. Be careful getting back home.”

“You too, Jon.”

After watching her take a couple of steps, he turned on his feet and began walking. The idea of getting back into the mass of people made his skin crawl.  While he didn’t dislike human contact most times, he had yet to find a person who enjoyed being pressed and pushed around as the multitude moved. 

He stepped into an alley, and began walking, keeping his pace brisk. 

His mind inevitably went back to one of the books he was meant to bind as its old cover had fallen off, time and misuse wearing it down. It was called Key of Solomon, but aside from the title there was nothing interesting about it – a tale of demons and devils, clearly meant for an easily impressed public. The binding had been proven to be tricky though, the pages refusing to stay put.

Jon had been doing this long enough to know how to deal with stubborn tomes.

He was startled by a hand on his shoulder, the contact sudden and unexpected. He turned and found himself face to face with two guards, clearly drunk and obviously looking for trouble.

_ Sasha will kill me. _

“Hey there, sweetheart.” One of them – blond and tall and with a very unsettling smile – purred. “It’s getting late, you shouldn’t be walking all by yourself.”

He scoffed. “Thank you, but I’m perfectly fine. Now if you could-” 

The hand on his shoulder tightened his grip.

“C’mon, don’t be like that. Let us take you home, make sure you’re fine-”

“I said _thank you_ , but I really need to leave. Bother each other, if you must.” He was equally scared and annoyed. This was the reason why he hated taking back streets, and not for the first time he found himself wishing his parents would have at least graced him with height, if not muscles. 

Then again, brains over brawn.

The other guard ruffled his moustache. “That really isn’t polite of you to say, hun-”

“Oh, dear, here you are!” A voice called from the opposite side of the alley. Jon didn’t want to risk getting jumped, and didn’t turn. “I’ve been looking for you all over the place!”

A man walked up behind him, and put a hand on his arm, keeping the touch light and mostly performative. 

“I apologise, officers, but we really must leave, the parade is starting soon and we wouldn’t want to miss it. Now go, on your way.”

Jon saw a ringed finger make a turning gesture, and suddenly the two men were walking away from them, sputtering in surprise and moving like  little  wooden  soldiers . He finally turned to face whoever –  _a wizard, that was magic!_ \- had helped him.

He  stared up at a pale man, towering about a head over him.

He seemed to be covered in eyes, one on his throat, others peeking out from the collar of his shirt, even more resting on his hands and knuckles,  partially covered by the silver rings. He had silver on his face and ears too, a bar of it passing his left eyebrow, then a ring around his lower lip and another one on his nose, with more earrings barely showing when his black hair was moved by the wind. He certainly did not look the part of the wizards he’d always heard about – his long black robes differing from the colourful cloaks he’d believed mages to wear, and instead of a  hoary beard he found himself staring at a young man, possibly a few years older than him. Strong jawed and broad-shouldered,  he was surprisingly underwhelming. 

He’d always thought his first encounter with a wizard would be more… intense. Not just a random guy sending two guards away.

“Thanks, but I could have handled that.” He scoffed. 

“Yes, I saw that. Still, at least I had some fun, tormenting guards is one of my favourite hobbies when I’m in town.”

M h. Maybe Jon could grow to tolerate this man. 

“Well, allow me to escort you back home? Or wherever you need to be. As an apology for stealing your chance of fighting those men.”

Jon crossed his arms and stared at him. “And why exactly should I trust you?”

The man smiled. “Because the guards are coming back, and they’ve brought friends.”

A quick glance behind his shoulder gave him all the information he needed to make his decision.

“Fair enough,” he declared. “Lead the way.”

“Name’s Gerry, by the way. I thought I should introduce myself-” The man – _Gerry_ – stretched out a hand, calm and collected even as a handful of guards began making their way to the pair of them, their usual boisterous manners exacerbated by a dangerous mix of anger and shame. Jon didn’t feel like tempting fate, and decided to cut off Gerry’s chattering.

“ _Yes,_ nice to meet you, I’m Jon and there are eight guards running towards us so maybe we can talk about it later- _ah!_ ” 

Gerry seemed to agree with his statement, and promptly grabbed his elbow to pull him into a small street, the  soldiers behind them picking up the pace and growing louder.  As he glanced behind his shoulder, Jon couldn’t help but feel something was… uncanny about them. There were more than before, he was sure, and some of them moved eerily, as if they had never done so before: some had their limbs sinking in the ground like jelly, while others were stiff and rigid, making him wince every time they rested their weight so heavily on the ground. He found he couldn’t read their faces, expressions and details escaping him as soon as he looked away. Jon tried to keep up, brain still trying to comprehend what he was doing as his legs moved of their own accord.

“I really apologise for my manners, but I need you to do as I say.” Gerry turned back to face him, leading him into what seemed like a dead end. There was a wall ahead of them, and he could hear the approaching footsteps.

“What else could I-”

“ _Jump!_ ” 

Jon didn’t question it, and followed Gerry up, getting ready for the moment he’d fall back on the ground to deal with a troop of hot-headed guards.

The moment never came, and he found himself going  _up up up_ and upper still, leaving no trace behind as he flew over heads and roofs, the city growing smaller before his eyes. Instinctively, he drew his knees up, curling into himself, until Gerry gently reprimanded him and instructed him to walk.

“Just like you would do on the ground- yes, just like that. You’re doing great Jon.”

Jon would have liked to tell him he didn’t care for his approval, but he was far too busy enjoying the feeling of being so incredibly light and free, air shaping itself beneath his feet as he made a step, pushing him up with ease and then down again,  skipping like a child would over rocks near the stream.

It felt like dancing – as far as he could remember at least, for he’d hardly danced in his life – and he told Gerry so.

“You’re a natural,” he praised as they hopped onto a belfry. “that’s exactly it. Dancing mid-air.”

He had an arm around Jon’s waist, the other gripping his hand tight. There was something about him – other than the obvious, which was magic – and he wondered if every wizard had that otherworldly beauty to them. As if they’d just stepped out of the night sky, eyes twinkling as if starlight was hiding just behind the surface. He could lose himself in the darkness of his hair, and the contrast between their skin where it came in contact was dizzying.

“What are those things?” Jon asked, sure that he would end up fainting if he didn’t focus his attention elsewhere. Could he have been bewitched, somehow?

“Mannequins,” Gerry replied, turning slightly to the left. “and wax figures. They work for the Watcher.”

The Watcher – a man who had forgotten more names than Jon could ever hope to learn – was a renowned wizard whose skills and curses were feared in all of Ingary.  He was rumoured to have the supernatural ability of Seeing all he put his mind to, and some said he could make other see what he pleased. Beyond that, no one was sure what his powers entailed, legend and reality so intertwined one could never be sure where one began and the other ended.

“Why were they following me?”

“I’m afraid that was me. I saw you in that street and tried to help, but I didn’t realise they would catch up so quickly. I apologise, I now fear they will come after you.”

“I can take care of myself,” Jon tried to say, sounding more out of breath than he would have liked. He hadn’t expected his day to be anything like this, and he couldn’t hide the thrill of fear that ran down his back at Gerry’s words.

“I know. But I know that the Watcher will not look kindly on your involvement, and I cannot hide you from him.” The wizard seemed to be genuinely regretful as they reached a balcony, gently helping Jon down. “He will surely come after you. Whatever he does- Jon, listen, whatever he does, you must come find me. Look for me in the Waste.”

That made him furrow his brow. “But- only Gerard Keay lives in that wasteland.”

Gerry rose an eyebrow.

_ Oh. _   
“Oh.”

“Oh indeed. I hope I don’t disappoint.”

Jon looked him up and down, not bothering to hide his frown. “Honestly, I expected you to be… older.”

Gerry gasped, affronted. 

“But I suppose you’ll have to do. Is there really nothing you can _do_ to avoid my approaching death?”

“He won’t kill you.”

Jon couldn’t keep himself from scoffing. That was a giant assumption, and it wasn’t like it was  _ Gerry _ risking his life. Then again, he didn’t have any other options.

“Jon, he won’t. I swear. But- His goons have seen you now, and if I try to put any protective spells on you he will Know.”

H e looked around, the street below them crawling with people. He supposed part of Gerry’s magic had made them invisible.

“Will it- I promise I will come find you, but will it _hurt?_ ” He felt the question slip out before he could think twice about it, and cursed himself for his childishness. This man here was probably taking a big risk, showing himself in the open, and he was scared of a little pain?

“I don’t know,” Gerry replied honestly. “But I will help. And whatever happens- the Waste, Jon. Remember.”

“I will.”


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was bound to happen, Jon knew, but with the Watcher's cold eyes set on him, his resolution began to falter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter CWs: Eye Trauma, Slight mentions of blood and vomiting, Sasha being too amazing for anyone to handle. Hope you enjoy, let me know in the comments!

_Even if I’m alone now, from our yesterdays  
Today is born sparkling  
Like the day when we first met_

Darkness had swallowed the city by the time his still-shaking hand reached the door handle, locking the door behind himself as he entered the bookshop. He felt like his heart was threatening to beat out of his chest, ribs aching painfully as he tried to breathe in stubborn air.

Jon reached for a match, striking it against the edge of a desk before lighting a lamp, a  warm golden glow softening the edges of the room. He caught a glimpse of his own reflection on a window, with his hair in disarray and eyes still wide open. 

Even as he’d made his way to the shop, he’d felt lighter, as if he was still floating above the streets rather than awkwardly skipping through them like he was sure he had done.

Gerard Keay.

If anyone had told him that by the end of the day he would have been dealing not with one but  _two_ of the most infamous wizards in the country after spending  what felt like hour s walking mid-air with one of them he would have been too baffled to even laugh.

H e kept an eye on the door, watching carefully for any approaching figure. He had no idea what the Watcher looked like, but he was sure he would find out before sunrise.

Gerard had told him that he wouldn’t die – which was a relief, blood stains on books were a pain to deal with and he knew Sasha could get squeamish – but he hadn’t been able to give him anything else on  _what_ exactly he would have to endure. Torture? A horrible curse? He’d read somewhere that people could be turned into other creatures- would he become some sort of animal, to ensure his silence? How was Gerry supposed to recognise him?

Of course, all of this was based on an assumption: what if the Watcher  _did_ feel like dirtying his hands for once? Jon had never been a good fighter – not even a mediocre fighter, truth be told. Maybe if Sasha were here- but no, he wouldn’t want to put her in danger.

“Tomorrow,” he whispered to himself. “If I’m still alive when morning comes, I’ll ask her to help me.”

She was practical, she’d kn o w what to do. And he was sure she would like to bully Gerry a bit for kidnapping him off the street and taking him for a nice walk in the clouds – which was  _not_ a euphemism.

A creaking sound startled him, but it was only followed by silence.

Maybe the Watcher had seen him and deemed him not worthy of revenge. He’d never been particularly striking, completely ordinary as his grandmother had never failed to  point out .  Perhaps he hadn’t been noticed. 

Jon for sure wouldn’t notice himself, if he were someone else. Barely anyone worth observing, he believed, and he knew most people’s eyes would run over him without even realising he was there.

“Now, Jonathan, don’t put yourself down like that.”

A voice coming from the opposite side of the room made him jump. Somewhere in a far-off corner that the light didn’t quite reach, a pair of green eyes was staring back at him.

“You are a most interesting character. Not everyone could catch the eye of the _great_ Gerard Keay. And no one can elude mine, of course.” He could tell the man was smiling. 

“But I did find your musings incredibly entertaining. Hope is such a beautiful thing to shatter.”

“You’re the Watcher,” Jon gasped, walking back until he hit the wall. He knew there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and he felt Seen in a way that made his hair stand up on his head.

“Good job, Jonathan. But please do call me Elias.”

He scoffed. “Is that your real name?”

Elias – the Watcher – laughed, taking a step forward and out of the shadows.

He was a handsome man, danger and power written all over his face. He was older than he would have expected, salt and pepper hair giving him away, but the most striking feature he had were his  _eyes_ . Green and bright, they seemed to have a light shining behind them, and it made Jon shiver.

“Good question,” he said. “I suppose you could call me Jonah, if you’d rather. Or Richard, or James. These are only names, after all- a word can’t change the nature of men.”

“I doubt you’re a normal man.”

That earned him a deep chuckle, unease settling in his bones.

“I had hoped you’d turn out to have a bit of fight in you, but this- Jonathan, you exceeded my expectations.”

Jon had to bite his tongue to keep himself from telling him where exactly he could shove his expectations, and simply held eye contact.

“Fair enough.” Elias conceded. “But no matter how much I’d enjoy your conversation, I’m really afraid I must not let you walk away unarmed. You understand, right? I must show dear Gerard exactly what happens when he’s not careful. I wish he could see this.”

Jon braced himself, nails digging into the soft skin of his palms. He could do this, Gerry had said-

“Now Jonathan, you shall _See_.”

He was hit with a wave of pain, excruciating pain that seeped through his bones and left a burning ache behind. He could suddenly See everything, and yet he felt blood trickling down his cheeks, his eyes the place where the desperate hurting sensation flared the brightest. He could hear himself screaming, in the distance, but it didn’t seem like a sound he’d ever make – raw and  unrestrained – and something in him cracked.

Maybe he was cursing Elias, or Gerard, or maybe himself, but when he finally regained some sort of awareness, he knew he was alone.

Alone, and surrounded by flashing darkness.

Completely blind.

Scrambling to his feet – when had he even fallen to his knees? – he reached for the edge of the table, steadying himself before attempting to make any other move. He felt bile rising up in his throat, and dizziness overcame him.

He couldn’t help but be grateful as he felt himself slip, losing consciousness.

A whimper died in his throat.

“-on! Jon, wake up!”

He awoke with a start, gasping and panting for breath. Everything was dark, why was everything dark?

A hand on his chest, the smell of ink and leather reaching his nose and he could suddenly  _see_ the room, Sasha kneeling on the floor next to his body-

He saw himself turn on a side and retch, chest heaving, but he  _felt_ himself do so. Observing his life from a distant point of view, what he was sure was the painting on the wall near the window.

“Jon, Jon what’s going on? Were you attacked? Jon- your _eyes_.”

He shook his head, overwhelmed. Trying his luck, he reached for that Sight, though this time he knew he was using Sasha’s  eyes because he could see himself, prone on the floor, eyes that had once been dark and lively now covered with an opaque veil, white and unseeing.

“Jon!”

He tried clearing his throat.

“I-”

“Sorry, you probably can’t even speak right now- wait, squeeze my hand. Once for yes-”

_Twice for no, thrice for unsure._

It was hardly the first time they’d used this code, both of them growing overwhelmed sometimes, to the point where words seemed to elude their control.

“Jon, are you- are you in pain?”

He tightened his grip on her hand twice.

“Alright. Were you- attacked, or something?”

One squeeze.

“Was it magic?”

He furrowed his brow and squeezed once more.

“Don’t give me that look, there’s no sign of break-ins and your eyes definitely don’t look like they did yesterday.”

“T-thank you, Sasha” he managed to croak out, voice rough from his screaming. He still managed to pour all of his sarcasm into those words, which made her relax slightly.

“Do _not_ sass me, I thought you were dead when I walked in. You were so still, Jon.”

He grimaced.

“Help me up.”

Resting his weight on her arms, he managed to reach the small cot in the backroom, the one they kept for late nights. It was definitely more comfortable than the floor, but moving reminded him that all of his joints were in terrible pain.

“So, want to share what happened with the class?”

He  stared blankly ahead of himself for a couple of seconds, trying to gather his thoughts. How could he even explain what had happened to her? Would she understand, or would she think he’d finally lost it?

“I met Gerard Keay,” he whispered.

Sasha sat down heavily.

“Did- Did _he_ do this to you?” 

The barely suppressed anger in her voice would have been flattering, were Jon not so worried about Elias possibly taking it out with her too.

“No. But I can’t- He helped me out yesterday, after a… disagreement with some guards. We _talked_ , for a while and then he said that a man would come after me. Because he wasn’t supposed to get involved.”

Sasha didn’t comment, but took one of his hands in her own and held him tight against her chest.

“So he said that I’d have to find him, afterwards. He says he can help.” Jon knew his voice was shaking far too much, but he couldn’t find it within himself to care. “Sasha, I’m going to need your help. Please. I hate to drag you into this mess-”  
“Oh shut up, I became involved the moment _you_ did. I suppose your curse won’t let you say who’s behind it?” She stood up abruptly, and he could hear her pacing around the small room.

“How-”

“Please, I’ve done my share of reading. Now, you can’t see _anything_ at all?”

Jon tried to find words to describe the uncanny feeling of seeing through someone else’s eyes, but nothing seemed to properly describe his situation. Besides, he wasn’t completely sure of what was going on yet – was this temporary? Was it going to get better, worse? What exactly could he do?

“I- I can see. But not with my eyes. It’s like E- the man who did this, he made me blind but he said I could ‘see everything’ now. So wherever there are eyes, I can reach out and apparently see through them? Even if they’re painted.” He sighed. “I think- If I focused really hard, I could find out more about it. It’s like the information is in my head, but I’m still too weak to properly _get_ it.”

Sasha squealed, and began moving furiously. He didn’t dare Look, but he could hear the sounds of paper being shuffled.

“Well, at least he didn’t leave you completely in the dark – metaphorically speaking. Can’t imagine it’d be easy to figure out all of this by yourself.”

He made sure to give her a pointed look. “Oh yes, how kind of the man to blind me but leave me a very useful manual on how to use my new spooky powers to observe the world through other people’s eyes. I should find him and thank him for his gift.”

Jon wasn’t sure how, but he knew Sasha was rolling her eyes at him. Typical, their friendship was based on snarky comments and fond annoyance. They stayed in silence for a while, Sasha resuming her movements. He wished he could see what exactly she was working on.

“So you could use mine?” She finally asked, the sounds stopping for a moment.

Jon nodded, shifting his weight on the cot. “ But I wouldn’t- I understand it’s rather invading.”

He wasn’t convinced she was even listening to him anymore, and when a triumphant _ah-a!_ echoed through the room, and the thin mattress – a rather kind way to describe the thrice-folded blanket – dipped under her weight as she sat down next to him, a hand resting on his knee, he had his confirmation.

“Jon, I’ve- wait, right, I need you to use my eyes for a moment here.” She waited patiently for him to reply, as he slowly blinked.

“Excuse me, what?”

“We don’t have all day – I mean, we _do_ , but I’d rather like to avoid getting out too late. My eyes, Jon.”

He kept staring in her general direction, head tilted to the side and brow furrowed in confusion.

“Sasha, I don’t think you understand-”

“Don’t _think_ , man, act. We don’t want your pretty head to get too tired, and you have to help me out with this.”

He reluctantly began to prod at that newfound place in his mind, a wall behind which he could feel an unfamiliar source of power. Or rather, a door that he’d have to open to access  _Sasha’s eyes_ .

A deep breath, and he felt himself knock gently against the wood before being thrust into a sudden burst of sight and colour and unexpected input. As the effort grew, more and more deliberate this time, he could feel how much more intense it felt, not the vague and passive staring from before.

Now he could see through Sasha,  _as_ Sasha. He could feel her mind running a thousand miles per hour, her view of the world so intrinsically different from his own that for a moment  he was overcome with vertigo. She lived a completely different life, and to see as her was… uncanny, to say the least.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, realising he’d been quiet for a while now. “It’s- It’s a very uncommon thing to experience. Can you feel it?”

Through the motion of her eyes, he could see she was shaking her head. She turned towards him, and he noticed his eyes still had that opaque coat covering them. Uh.

Then Sasha took out a dusty book and began to search the index.

“Jon, I don’t know how to translate this but I remember that the man who gave it to us – a real bargain, he said, and I didn’t notice it was in another language until the next day – said it contained a lot of counter-curses. Mostly for minor hexes, I’d wager, but I think it wouldn’t hurt to take it with us. Then we have-”

“What?” Jon cut her off, feeling her confusion at his question bubbling beneath the surface. Not feeling quite like his own emotion, but if only he reached out, tried to See beyond the surface, he was sure he’d feel every single thought. He recoiled, and exited her mind in a haste.

“What what?”

“I mean- with _us_? Where? And what are you planning on doing exactly?”

He couldn’t see, of course, but he  _felt_ Sasha’s gaze on him with such intensity he believed he would have died on the spot if he’d witnessed it.

“You _are_ aware I’m not sending you on some warlock-finding-roadtrip alone, right? I’m coming with. You’ll need eyes, and I want to make sure this Gerard Keay knows what he’s doing.” Her tone was curt, and Jon knew there would be no protest she would listen to. He limited himself to a resigned nod.

“Fine. But- we need to go to the wasteland, so I assume we might need some basic provisions.”

Sasha threw a paper into his lap, before taking it back in a haste.

“Sorry, I forgot. Anyway, I made a list while you were complaining about the ethics of using my eyes when I explicitly ask you to. We’ll need food – I was thinking Rosie, she’s always making packs for travellers – and some warm clothing because I know it’s cold up there at night, and I’m not going to get frostbite. Then a map, which would be kind of useless now that I think about it, that’s pretty much uncharted territory- well, a map will at least make us look professional. I also figured it’s going to take a while, unless you picked a rendezvous point with the wizard?”

He could feel her eyes roll back as he watched himself shake his head.

“Typical. Fine, let’s get to work. _Not you_ , Mr “I Was Blinded Less Than Twelve Hours Ago And Almost Fainted While Sitting Up”. Yes, I noticed that.”

Jon stared at her with his unseeing eyes, his lips unwilling to cooperate as he tried to hide the beginning of a smile that was  forming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I'm back with a new update! I meant to post this yesterday but with all the Christmas shenanigans I really didn't manage to do it, so here it is. I hope I can be more punctual next Friday, otherwise you are welcome to come yell at me on [tumblr](https://politelydeclined.tumblr.com/) or [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/simpsforsims/)

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: I've had this fic in the making for literal _ages_ , and instead of bothering my friend and awesome beta any longer, I decided to bite the bullet and write it down. I have a soft spot for JonGerry and this was just an elaborate excuse to spend hours thinking about them.  
> As usual, kudos and comments are incredibly appreciated - I might not always reply but every single notification brings a smile to my face :))


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